


The Problem Is...

by ArsenicSnap (HarperZale)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, sollux is fucking allergic to cats, what's your damn problem karkat, you selfish little poop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-25
Updated: 2012-11-25
Packaged: 2017-11-19 11:35:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/572826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarperZale/pseuds/ArsenicSnap
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You don't <i>have</i> a cat. Who <i>does </i>have a cat is your alleged best friend, a short, stumpy boy with dark circles under his eyes and a temper like a fuse. In your head, the thought of him immediately brings up the picture of an angry, dirty face, flushed red, scowl pulling at the corner of his lips, messy tangle of ginger hair flopping into his eyes.<br/>You don't have a cat, but he does.<br/>The problem is, his apartment doesn't allow him to keep animals.<br/>The problem is, he's supposed to be your best friend.<br/>The problem is, you hate cats. And also happen to be allergic to them.<br/>The problem is, you're tired of taking so many fucking pills as it is, and even allergy medicine would just be the final straw on the exhausted camel's back and you think you'd snap if you had to take so much as a fucking chewable Benadril.<br/>The problem is, your friend<i> loves</i> that fucking cat, probably even more than he loves you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Problem Is...

There's cat vomit on the floor outside your bedroom door. It's been there for a couple of days, at least.

  
Your fathers rarely ever venture upstairs, as the upstairs is universally understood as your domain, so there's no way they would have seen it to clean it up. Technically, it's your responsibility.

  
You walk past it every day and don't think twice about the fact that it's hardened into a crusty, gross puddle on the carpet.

It's not even your cat.

  
You don't _have_ a cat. Who _does_ have a cat is your alleged best friend, a short, stumpy boy with dark circles under his eyes and a temper like a fuse. In your head, the thought of him immediately brings up the picture of an angry, dirty face, flushed red, scowl pulling at the corner of his lips, messy tangle of ginger hair flopping into his eyes.

  
You don't have a cat, but he does.

  
The problem is, his apartment doesn't allow him to keep animals.

  
The problem is, he's supposed to be your best friend.

  
The problem is, you hate cats. And also happen to be allergic to them.

  
The problem is, you're tired of taking so many fucking pills as it is, and even allergy medicine would just be the final straw on the exhausted camel's back and you think you'd snap if you had to take so much as a fucking chewable Benadril.

  
The problem is, your friend _loves_ that fucking cat, probably even more than he loves you.

  
The problem is, back in elementary school you slipped on the aluminum slide because you hadn't realized that the surface was the temperature of satan's fucking asscrack under the blazing sun, and you had recoiled in shock and ended up twisting on the slide until you hit the bottom face-first, earning a mouthful of splintery woodchips on top of your burns and wounded dignity.

The problem is, everyone laughed at you.

  
And you were so embarrassed.

  
The problem is, your friend stood up for you. He marched right over from where he had been sullenly tracing pictures in the sandbox by himself, and he stood over you while he enlightened these 8-year-olds to a larger vocabulary. A larger vocabulary consisting of words like _fuck_ and _shit_ and _damn_ and _you fuckers think this is hilarious, if it's really so funny then why don't you carry your ass over here so I can stomp your skull into the ground and see how much you like the taste of fucking dirt, how about it?_

  
The problem is, he made a couple of them cry.

  
But one kid got angry.

  
The problem is, they'd gotten into a fight, three feet away from your quietly sniffing ass on the ground, watching from behind your smudged glasses. Sand was thrown in faces and shins were kicked before the teachers finally took notice of all the drama and rushed over to do some damage control. You'd gotten an ice pack and some bandaids and a pat on the back, and your friend got sent home early.

  
The next day, however, when he was back, you quietly shared some of your Scooby-snacks at lunchtime as a silent way of thanking him for sticking up for you.

  
You had nearly forgotten this day.

  
The problem is, three days ago, your friend-- years older now, obviously-- showed up with a cat carrier and a face that meant he was taking absolutely no bullshit.

  
The problem is, you might _hate_ cats, but he stood on your doorstep and refused to leave because _Captor I swear to god what kind of friend are you, I help your ass out all the time, this cat is going to fucking starve on the side of the road or get hit by some hippie riding a lawnmower if you don't stop being a pussy-- ha, ha, get it-- and take the damn thing in._

  
You said, _Dude I don't owe you anything, we've paid each other off time and time again anyway, we're even by now,_ and that's when he said _Remember back in second grade when you fell down the slide like a total klutz and made a fool of yourself and I called some assholes out on it and kicked their asses and got sent home early, yeah, you ungrateful fuck, you never even said thank you._

  
The problem is, _That was almost ten years ago KK you can't just suddenly pull that excuse out and wave it in my face like that, besides, I repaid you with my Scooby-snacks at lunch the next day so I am a free man you guilt-tripping sack of shit._

  
_You ate all of the Daphnes though,_ he said. _Those were my fucking favorite and you **knew** it, so take the damn cat._

  
The problem is, you don't know why, but you took the damn cat.

  
His shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly when you did, a tenseness that'd been in his posture slackening.

  
_Thanks_ , he said. _I'll be back in a few hours with food and more information and stuff._

  
And then he was gone, leaving you with a headful of memories and a carrier full of allergens.

  
Three days later, you have no idea where the damn cat is, but it's probably somewhere around here if it's leaving throw up on the carpet. You leave food and water out for it, as well as a litter box. In your eyes, you're basically the patron saint of generosity.

  
Karkat owes you big time.

  
You kick open the door to your room, sidestepping the vomit, and walk inside.

**Author's Note:**

> humm ok i might be abandoning that one johndave fic but i've been entertaining the idea of a sollux-centric story for a long while now
> 
> no promises though, it might just end up being a collection of short little ficlets like this one instead of an actual series


End file.
